


Cognitive Recalibration

by marmolita



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Backstory, Gen, Memory Alteration, Past Brainwashing, Past Torture, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), mention of suicidal thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-28
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-10 18:50:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7000258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marmolita/pseuds/marmolita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Natasha is a woman who holds her cards close.  It's like the whole world is on a need-to-know basis and until someone needs to know something about her she's not going to tell them, so she doesn't tell Steve she thinks she knows Bucky, and not just from the time he shot her.  She can hardly remember it anyway, after all the memory manipulation she's had in her lifetime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cognitive Recalibration

**Author's Note:**

> When I walked out of CA:CW all I wanted was something about Bucky and Natasha both having had their memories manipulated. So, here it is. I don't think this actually needs any warnings as pretty much everything in it is in canon, but just in case: contains brief descriptions of torture, experimentation, brainwashing, and memory wiping. One very brief mention of suicidal thoughts. Hope you enjoy!

"Is he under?"

Steve nods, face drawn. Natasha sets down her laptop and moves her feet off the sofa; he sits in the space she's vacated. "He says it's safer this way."

"You don't agree?"

Steve sighs and drops his head into his hands, elbows on his knees. "I do. He's right, it's safer, for him and for everyone else. I just wish it didn't have to be this way."

Natasha puts her hand on Steve's shoulder and squeezes gently. "When I defected to SHIELD, they locked me up for a while. 'Protective custody.' It gave them time to investigate me, make sure I wasn't really a plant." She takes her hand back, examines her nails. The ring finger has a jagged edge: collateral damage from the recent fighting. "Gave _me_ time to make sure I wasn't a plant."

Steve glances up at her. "How long?"

She shrugs. "Six months, maybe. In the end nobody could prove one way or the other, so they let me go. Actions speak louder than words. That's how I got to be friends with Clint -- he was the sniper they assigned to keep an eye on me during all of my missions."

"Didn't it bother you, that they didn't trust you?"

"Not really. You didn't trust me for a long time either, after you met me. I'm not exactly a trustworthy person."

"He told me . . . he told me he remembers everything now, but it took a long time to come back. He's got notebooks, journals, where he wrote everything down, so he wouldn't forget again. And then Zemo said those words to him and none of it mattered." Steve sighs and leans back. "Bucky is a good man," he says, like he's trying to convince her.

"Did you ever think--" She stops, considers, and tries again. "Did you ever think that maybe this Bucky isn't the same Bucky you knew? Have you read his journals? Do you really know what happened to him, all those years?"

"I know enough. I don't need to read it."

"Don't need to, or don't want to?"

"Does it matter? He's in cryo either way, until we can find a way to undo this programming."

"Well, if anyone can do it, it's Captain America," she says, only half joking. "Come on, let's get out of here."

He smiles and nods. As they're leaving, he catches her arm and adds, "If you want to look at Bucky's notebooks, go ahead. Most of the writing looks Cyrillic, and I don't know any of those languages. Maybe you can find something in there that'll help him."

"Sure, Steve. Any time."

* * *

Natasha is a woman who holds her cards close. It's like the whole world is on a need-to-know basis and until someone needs to know something about her she's not going to tell them, so she doesn't tell Steve she thinks she knows Bucky, and not just from the time he shot her. She can hardly remember it anyway, after all the memory manipulation she's had in her lifetime.

She picks up a battered spiral-bound notebook and flips it open to a random page. It's Russian, and she begins to read.

> March 1, 2015
> 
> I remember the last time I came out of cryo. It hurt the same as every other time, but after seventy years you get used to it I guess. Someone read the words. Gives me a headache just to think about them, so I try not to. They showed me a photo, a black man with an eye patch. Kill him, they said.
> 
> I asked if they cared about witnesses or casualties.
> 
> They told me, "Just kill him. Never mind about anything else."
> 
> There's something peaceful about having a mission. It's simple. You have one thing to do, you do it. Sometimes I miss that.

Natasha closes the notebook. She thought-- She thought it would be easy, to read his memories, to see if there's anything there about her. She knows what it's like to have one mission, one goal, to not worry about anything else. _Simple._ Not good, not right, maybe, but simple.

She takes a deep breath, in through her nose, out through her mouth, and opens the notebook from the beginning.

* * *

> December 25, 2014
> 
> It's Christmas day. I remember Christmas. I remember going with Steve to Mass, because his mom loved the music, because it was so warm in the church when it was so cold in our tenement. My folks didn't care one way or the other so they let me go.
> 
> I went to Mass today. Sat in the back, lit some candles.
> 
> Couldn't help thinking how easy it would be for a sniper up behind the choir to pick off all the congregants, one, two, three. I don't think I belong in church.  
> 

Most of the entries are in Russian, with a smattering in other European languages. Very few are in English: the ones that are are about his oldest memories, as if he expected that Steve would find and read these journals. Entries about his parents, about Steve, about the economic hardships of pre-war Brooklyn. A few here and there about girlfriends, or odd jobs. The last one in English is about enlisting in the army.

It's strange, Natasha thinks, that if the English entries are for Steve, there are none about their time together after Steve became Captain America. That is, until she finds the entries about that year.

> February 3, 2015
> 
> There was a battle -- the details are hazy, but there was a battle, and we lost, and those of us who were still alive got taken prisoner. The locked us up in cages, and started taking us out one by one.
> 
> The guys they took never came back.
> 
> I fought when they came for me, but I was starving, dehydrated, covered in my own filth from being locked up so long, and I just didn't have the strength to do any good. Someone hit me on the head, I think, because the next thing I remember is Zola leaning over me. I didn't understand the German he was speaking to the other Nazis, but I figured out pretty quick he was a scientist, not a soldier.
> 
> Finally, Zola said to me, "You are going to help usher in the new world order. This might sting a bit." Then he smiled, and injected me with something. I'm not sure how long it took before I started screaming, but whatever was in that syringe felt like it was burning my veins from the inside out.
> 
> I lost track of time. It's a blur from there -- Zola coming to give me injections, pain, screaming, more injections. Zola's pleased voice updating his companions on my status. I don't know what he said, but he was clearly happy with whatever was happening.
> 
> I wondered if it would kill me. I wanted it to kill me -- better that than suffer through another round of injections.
> 
> But then, just when I thought Zola was going to come for another round, Steve showed up. What the fuck happened to Steve? Was I dreaming? How did a 90lb sickly little punk grow a foot and put on 150lbs of solid muscle?
> 
> God, I was so confused but so happy to see him. He got us out of there, got everyone out of there, but . . . something was broken in me. Something was wrong. Whatever that stuff he injected me with was, it changed me, and not in a good way.
> 
> Every time I looked at Steve, I saw my best friend, who I loved more than anyone.
> 
> Every time I looked at Steve, I thought about killing him.  
> 

There are more. Bits and pieces, memories of his trigger finger twitching when Steve walked through the crosshairs of his rifle, turmoil from hiding his dark urges from his friend. The entries are in chronological order by when he remembered them, not in chronological order of when events happened, but little by little a picture emerges as Natasha works her way through the journals.

> March 12, 2015
> 
> I remember the first time I came out of cryo. It hurt, pins and needles everywhere, and someone asked in Russian, "What is your name?"
> 
> I didn't answer.
> 
> I didn't have a name.
> 
> * * *
> 
> May 23, 2015
> 
> I remember the first time I came out of cryo. It hurt, and I was screaming. When I opened my eyes, there was a man standing in front of me. He asked in English, "What is your name?"
> 
> I couldn't answer.
> 
> I didn't know.
> 
> * * *
> 
> July 8, 2015
> 
> I remember the first time I came out of cryo. It hurt, and I think I was screaming. All I was thinking was what happened to Zola, where's Steve, where's Jim and Gabe and--
> 
> That's all I have so far. Maybe I'll remember the rest next month. I'm not sure I want to.
> 
> This is the fifth entry I have about the first time I came out of cryo. Is this the real one? It feels more real. More pain, more fear. How many times did they wipe my memories? How many times did they reprogram me?
> 
> How many tries did it take them to get it right?  
> 

_Have you ever had someone take your brain and play? Take you out and stuff something else in?_ Clint had asked her once. _You know what it's like to be unmade?_

Natasha didn't remember, for a long time, the mechanics of how her memories had been altered. Shreds of images surfaced in her dreams, a little at a time over the years, until she was able to put enough of the puzzle together to get the general idea: an injection, a mechanical apparatus, electrodes. A screen showing the memories to implant. A headset whispering in her ear as she was shocked. 

She doesn't remember the first time they wiped her memories. It was probably, she thinks, when she was a child. Her earliest memories are from when she's 7 or 8 years old, and most people have a few from when they're younger. Assuming she has parents, Natasha doesn't remember them -- given the kind of things she's seen, she sometimes wonders if she was created in a laboratory. There's nothing before the Red Room. 

She does know her memories weren't altered frequently until she'd graduated; most of the information they implanted was via repeated training, memorization, subliminal messages in videos she was made to watch. Memory alteration was saved for the most critical undercover operations, when she would have to become a different person completely to maintain her cover. Or, if she learned too much. 

She knows she came up against the Winter Soldier on a SHIELD mission, years ago. There was no memory manipulation after joining SHIELD, so those memories are crystal clear. 

She thinks maybe she knew Bucky. She thinks she went on a mission or two with him, back in her early days after graduation. Vague recollections of a metal arm scooping her off her feet, of long hair tickling her cheek as she fires a gun, of blue eyes staring into hers dance around the edges of her consciousness. His name wasn't Bucky, then. A strong feeling of deja vu and a twisting tightness in her chest that tells her there's more that she's forgotten. 

It gives her a headache, so she puts the notebooks down and goes to bed.

* * *

> May 1, 2016
> 
> "You could at least recognize me," she said, but I didn't, not then. Once they say those words to me, all I can see are enemies.
> 
> I did recognize her, before, and after. She was in the files. Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow. KGB before SHIELD, friend of Captain America and Nick Fury, Avenger.
> 
> Months ago I remembered the time that I shot a mark through her side.
> 
> Today all I see is a vague hazy image of a girl called Natalia dancing ballet.
> 
> Do I know her?  
> 

* * *

"You've been spending a lot of time with Bucky's notebooks," Steve says, a few days later. "Did you find anything useful?" 

Natasha shrugs, shoveling a spoonful of oatmeal in her mouth. "Depends what you mean by useful. There are a lot of mission reports, intelligence a lot of governments would pay for. Some details about the great Captain America's not-so-great childhood. You never told me your mom was a nurse, by the way, is that why you like Sharon so much?" 

"Sharon's not a nurse," he replies testily. Well, more like mock-testily, since ribbing him about his love life has become their bonding ritual. "And I meant useful as in something that might help get the trigger words out of him." 

"In that case, no. There's a little about the mechanics of the equipment they used to implant them, but those sort of devices were never used to remove programming. You ever think about asking Thor? This seems like the kind of thing some crazy Asgardian tech might be able to help with." 

"Yeah, well, when I figure out how to send a message to Asgard I'll let you know." Steve pours himself a bowl of Cheerios and joins her at the table. "Sam wants to know how long we're staying in Wakanda." 

"What'd you tell him?" Steve chews, swallows, considers. 

"Until either we get a lead on something or His Majesty kicks us out."

They eat in silence for a while, then Natasha goes to the sink to wash her bowl. "Did Bucky ever say anything to you about me?" she asks casually. 

Steve frowns thoughtfully. "Not in particular. Why?" 

"Nothing really. Just curious." She grabs the dish towel and starts drying. Steve doesn't say anything, but she can tell he's waiting for the rest. "I found an entry about me. Not the time he shot me, something else. Something earlier." 

"What do you mean? You mean in a mission report?" 

"Not exactly." Natasha places the bowl back on the shelf. "I think--" She stops, hesitates, then turns to face him. "I think I knew him. Before that." 

"You _think_ you knew him?" Steve furrows his brows. It's kind of cute, actually. If she focuses on that, she doesn't have to think about whether she's revealing too much of herself to him. 

"Your friend's not the only one who's had his memories wiped. I think I knew him. I remember bits and pieces, but I couldn't tell you what, or when, or why." She sighs. "I think they erased him from my memory." 

"I guess it makes sense that you might have run into each other. How many master assassins were there in Soviet Russia?" She cracks a smile at that, and he smiles back. "Why would they erase him from your memory though?" 

"I don't know. It was too dangerous for me to know about him? I knew something they didn't want anyone else to ever find out?" 

Steve's head jerks up. "Do you think you knew how to undo his programming?" 

Her heart beats a little faster in her chest. She hadn't considered the possibility, though now that he mentions it she wonders why it hadn't occurred to her. "I don't know. Probably not. Probably they were just safeguarding their asset. 'No witnesses' was a rule we all lived by." He still looks too excited at the possibility. "Steve," she says gently, "most of the things they erased from my memory . . . I don't really want to remember. The things I _do_ remember are bad enough. I don't know how to recover my memories anyway, or if it's even possible." 

His expression sobers. "I think you're the best lead we've got right now. I won't ask you to do anything you're not comfortable with, but would you be willing to try to recover those memories?" 

"How exactly do you propose we try to do that?" 

"Well, I was thinking . . . I was thinking maybe Wanda could help. We know she's got some telepathic abilities." 

Natasha narrows her eyes. "Yeah, we know she has the ability to make us see our worst nightmares. Once was enough for me, thanks. I don't relish the thought of letting her back into my head." 

"I trust her," Steve says, like that's enough. Like Natasha hasn't learned her whole life to not trust anybody. 

Somehow, it turns out, she trusts Steve Rogers. 

* * *

> May 24, 2016
> 
> I'm going back in the ice today. It's the best thing for everyone, the safest thing for sure. If I wasn't me, I would have shot me as soon as I had the chance.
> 
> I feel bad for Steve, leaving him like this -- Peggy's gone, so I'm all he has left from before. I'm not the same person I was back then, though, so is that really true? Besides, he has new friends now. Sam, Sharon, Natasha.
> 
> _Natalia._
> 
> I remember, now, getting woken up to help train girls, joint op between Hydra and the KGB. Fighting them and taking them down one by one, none of them easy but none of them difficult -- not until her. She must have been 13 years old, fast and light. The metal arm is fast but it's still mechanical, it still can't respond to thoughts as quickly as real flesh and blood, and she got in a couple of hits before I knocked her to the floor and held her there, squeezing her throat in my hand until the handlers told me to stop.
> 
> They were impressed with her. She was ruthless, deadly, efficient. She came along on every mission I had from then until she graduated, and a few after for good measure.
> 
> I saw them wipe her at least once.
> 
> "You could at least recognize me," she said, but did she mean from a couple of years ago, or a couple of decades ago?
> 
> I wonder if they coded her with trigger words. I suppose they didn't really need to. Natalia didn't have any previous life they had to erase -- all she ever was was an assassin and a spy. They wiped her when they didn't want her to know too much, or when they needed to implant memories for a mission. If she had any memories from before they took her, they were long gone.
> 
> The way she looked at me, though . . . I don't think she remembers. At least, not all of it. I thought about leaving a note to remind her, but most of them aren't good memories. She's probably better off forgetting about me.
> 
> If I could make Steve forget me, I would. I'm not worth all the effort he's putting into me, not anymore. Maybe I never was.
> 
> Maybe, someday, if they can get these trigger words out of my head, maybe I can be. 

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to [atrata](http://archiveofourown.org/users/atrata) for short-notice beta reading. <3


End file.
